


Token

by ezlebe



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Arranged Marriage, Elemental Magic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 05:29:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21314947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ezlebe/pseuds/ezlebe
Summary: “Hey!” A voice calls from somewhere deep in the crowd, revealed soon to belong to a tall knight in full armor that pushes through the throng seemingly only to get toHux. “There you are - look at this.”Hux blinks as a hand is shoved in front of his chest, looking down at the coalescence of a burning shape, soon animal-like and slinking around in the manner of a fox. He stares at it for a beat, then looks up at the knight, feeling startled for an entirely different reason than simple interruption. “I apologize, Sir, I can’t touch it - take it. I’m not fire.”“I know,” the knight says simply, turning his gloved hand and letting the little summon travel over his fingers. “I only wanted you to see I made it.”
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 11
Kudos: 174





	Token

“Hey!” A voice calls from somewhere deep in the crowd, revealed soon to belong to a tall knight in full armor that pushes through the throng seemingly only to get to _Hux_. “There you are - look at this.”

Hux blinks as a hand is shoved in front of his chest, looking down at the coalescence of a burning shape, soon animal-like and slinking around in the manner of a fox. He stares at it for a beat, then looks up at the knight, feeling startled for an entirely different reason than simple interruption. “I apologize, Sir, I can’t touch it - take it. I’m not fire.”

“I know,” the knight says simply, turning his gloved hand and letting the little summon travel over his fingers. “I only wanted you to see I made it.”

“Ah,” Hux says, glancing down to the little fox again, swallowing nervously and realizing that something unfortunate may be occurring, though he can’t quite believe it. It’s hardly the first time, since he started looking more man than boy, but it’s certainly standout that he’s nearly gotten his toes stepped on and a fancy show of affinity shoved under his nose without even a _greeting_.

“Do you like it?”

“It is –“ Hux glances around the knight, looking for Ren, but he’s nowhere to be seen, not on the dais or next to his mother at the edge of the stadium. He nods tightly, looking back to the knight’s helmet and the approximation of eyes hidden behind a darkened barrier. “You have very good control of your affinity.”

“Do you not like the fox?” The knight asks, as if somehow disappointed, and suddenly the animal is undeniably a cat, bounding over steel-clad knuckles before sitting upon a wide palm. “Better? I can’t be sure of your favorite.”

A mild panic claws at Hux behind his sternum, even more uncertain of the knight the longer he stares at him. He clears his throat, drawing his hands to fold at his back. “Sir, take a step back.”

“Huh?” The knight says dumbly, though he follows the request with a stumble, fiery creature disappearing as the hand drops to his side.

“You’re far out of turn,” Hux says, lifting his chin and gathering every ounce of stately training shoved upon him. “I have little proof of it, but I am Armitage Hux of Arkanis, the very same betrothed to your _prince_. Please desist this –” He hears his voice break slightly and can feel a chill crawl up his neck and behind his ears. “This attempt at courting?”

“You - oh,” the knight pauses, shoulders dropping slightly, a heaving sigh erupting with a perceptible flare of heat from his helmet. “Right. Well. Will you at least give me a token? For the melee.”

“Certainly not, Sir, it would be unseemly,” Hux says, attempting to straighten his posture further, though there’s little room to improve.

“Probably,” the knight agrees, curiously chuckling under his helm, as if truly delighted, “You will be truly a decorous Prince Consort for the land of Alderaan, Arms.”

Hux feels his expression waver slightly, then he narrows his eyes at _the knight’s_ back. It couldn’t be him, could it? He’s far too tall, broad, hands the size of bears’ paws – Ren couldn’t have grown so much, could he? He was ill for so long, too long, to come out the other side now with the breadth of a storybook warrior.

“Wait!” Hux calls, taking a hesitant step forward, then pausing on the ball off his foot. “You ass!”

The knight turns around, but doesn’t stop moving, now stepping backward toward the ring with a startled, exaggerated gesture at his own chest. It could _only_ be him.

“You’re really doing the melee?”

“A token,” Ren calls back, repeating his request and holding out his arm now, wagging his fingers. “For luck.”

Hux bites his lip for a moment, thinking before quickly stepping forward to crowd back in close. He takes Ren’s hand, hoping the coolness isn’t visible rising across his neck, and sweeps his hand over the edge of the plating, attempting to trace out his own affinity creature. “I’m not an artist.”

“This is already melting,” Ren grumbles, turning his arm, then crows in an entirely unknight-ly manner. “I knew it was a cat!”

“You did not,” Hux says, leaning forward to look again at his lopsided attempt, the image entirely wrong on the second look and nothing like what he had in his mind. He loathes creative ventures, difficult as they are to have perfect. “It’s supposed to be a fiertiogar.”

“Oh,” Ren says, peering with exaggerated interest, until his helmet is nearly against his arm, then abruptly pulling back with a look up, “I can… _not_ see it. You made the ears too pointed, and the nose isn’t big enough.”

“Shut up,” Hux snaps, tempted now to reach forward and erase the whole thing – he should be given some allowance for a first attempt, not that he’ll ask for such a thing. “As if you should be wanting bigger noses.”

“Asshole,” Ren says, frown audible behind his helmet. He looks up from the drawing, leaning forward, and his eagerness is plain across the set of his shoulders in the place of an expression. “Watch me fight?”

Hux pretends to consider it, tilting his head back toward the edge of the grounds near the Queen. “If I must.”

“You must,” Ren says, nodding with a drop of his head and a clank of metal upon metal, then stepping back slightly, only to pause on his heel. He is quiet for another beat, then squares his shoulder, “I’m going to defeat all of them.”

“Will you?” Hux says, suddenly feeling like he’s a caught up in one of his old books, sending Ren off onto some adventure – for all it’s only meters away within an orderly barrier. “What shall I call you when you do, Sir…?”

“Sir Kylo,” Ren says, straightening his back, then gesturing at the emblem pressed into his robe with his fist. “Of Alderaan Proper.”

“_Kylo_?” Hux repeats dubiously, dropping the act only moments after taking it, feeling skepticism spill across his face. “Where on earth did you come up with that?”

Ren goes visibly still, then clears his throat with a hollow echo and takes another step away. “The event is to begin soon.”

“That is not an answer,” Hux says, tempted to follow again, only to flinch at the jarring resound of horns. He drops back on his heels, watching Ren shove through and disappear completely behind a gathering crowd, only to realize his own disappointment in the following second – he had expected a far longer conversation.

* * *

“I see you’re like the rest,” Phasma says, appearing at his side with a flat tone and little more warning.

Hux manages not to flinch, instead reducing his surprise to a short tip of his head. He doesn’t look over, keeping his eyes on Ren and watching him posture at his next opponent, more aggressive now he’s on his third and final for the day. It seems like he’ll truly be in the main event in two days’ time, should he succeed in defeating his current adversary.

Hux feels almost humbled for assuming he’d lose the first.

“Taken with Alderaan’s mysterious black knight,” Phasma continues, pointing past Hux’s head, as if he needs a reminder for the subject of his thoughts. “Rumor is no one has seen under his helmet, though he’s supposedly quite young.”

“He wears it even tending his horse?” Hux asks, mostly sarcastic, though he wouldn’t be particularly surprised from some of Ren’s letters – Silencer is, evidently, something of a biter now full grown. He’d be better behaved gelded, but it’s unlikely Ren would agree to it.

Phasma narrows her eyes, then hums flat. “I don’t know that anyone has asked the stablehands.”

Hux gestures in the direction of the stables with his chin, a small, naïve part of him hoping she’ll take that as a hint. He didn’t expect company, would have sat with the Queen and Her Consort if he desired conversation.

Phasma clears her throat, interrupting yet again barely a minute later, and at the worst possible time as the two knights dive for each other and the crowd roars. “I’ve gotten what we need.”

Hux glances over sharply, forgetting Ren with a nervy chill down his spine; it’s truly going to happen. “That easy to come by?”

“Traders of all sorts are here for the tournament,” Phasma says, voice lowering to hide her treasonous implications, though there’s few in this land who could truly appreciate them. “Including some who’ve passed through Parnassos, who think they might aid a dishonorable knight or two.”

Hux looks back to the ring with a start, grimacing when Ren stumbles back at a particularly forceful surge of water. He shouldn’t worry so much, and it’s… _improbable_ given how the tournament works, but, “Could you point them out?”

Phasma doesn’t answer for conspicuous time, then clears her throat. “Excuse me?”

“To report them,” Hux says, lifting his chin slightly, doing his best to keep his voice unaffected. “And to know what they sold, should their products harm a knight.”

“I could,” Phasma says slowly, her voice betraying her skepticism. “Why?”

Hux takes a breath, unsure how odd it would be for him to try to excuse it as general concern. He’d care absolutely none at all if Ren weren’t currently embroiled in the melee, suddenly out playing a knight in heavy robes and chainmail, throwing fire stupidly at a water user rather than taking out his bloody _sword_. He’s going to lose and sulk, and potentially the last visit Hux will have could be ruined by obnoxious glowering.

“Ah, I somehow forgot,” Phasma says, blessedly filling the silence herself, “You have the ear of the throne.”

“I will be the throne,” Hux says, intending to correct her sharply, though the words only come out awkward and somewhat hollow.

“Will you?” Phasma counters, quick to catch onto his uncertain tone. She’s not quite outright in her mockery, but it’s certainly undeniable all the same. “Arkanis is crumbling, young Master Hux, why should the Queen keep her deal for a destitute bog? Especially after the despot is – ”

“Even if I’m not,” Hux interrupts, with an almost painful surge of pounding beneath his ribs. “I hardly want to be witness to poisoned knights knowing I could stop it.”

“I was only joking,” Phasma says, her voice immediately easing with a different sort of taunting, though it’s rather more unpleasant. “You can’t really think she’ll revoke the betrothal? Lady Maratelle was rather certain the Queen would still have you wed to her Prince.”

“Maratelle’s opinion notwithstanding,” Hux says, having to bury reflexive dread a second time at just the mention of the conversation. He had barely grasped how truly bad it would be until his step-mother was trying to be comforting, where usually she preferred to be blunt. “The marriage has little to offer her kingdom anymore, she only doesn’t know it yet.”

“What must it be like to hate anything as much as you do Brendol, I wonder?” Phasma says, as if she truly doesn’t know – but then, she might not. She’s been with them barely a year, relatively untouched by Brendol’s pride or greed, his penchant for smacking things into place until they eventually break. “To sacrifice all of that splendor.”

Hux keeps his eyes on Ren, and imagines he looks up at the crowd, at _him_, but he’s still in the midst of convincing the stubborn water opponent to yield. “Brendol traded a bastard son for time, only to squander all respectable land and wealth that made the trade worthwhile. The marriage wouldn’t have gone through when the Queen saw that; the splendor is nonexistent.”

Phasma is quiet for a few blessed moments, then exhales an exasperated breath. “You’re young,” she says, practically aloof about it, as if she’s any older than him; as if she has any idea about it, rising quick from little more than the dust of her little village in the past years and about to get even higher, while he’s about to fall. “Perhaps you’ll find a love match.”

Hux grinds his teeth some, feeling a localized stab behind his sternum and just a bit to the left. He chooses not to think too deeply about why.

“Or another political one, though I doubt they’ll have the… the power of…” Phasma’s lecture fades to silence suddenly, and then she’s moving, knee knocking against Hux’s as she leans forward without thought. “Divinity above, look at _that_.”

Hux hardly needs the directive, crowd abruptly roaring around them, his eyes before on the ring but now his focus truly fixed while his breath freezes within his chest.

Ren has finally pulled his sword, but rather than swiping at his opponent with both hands at the hilt, he’s simply holding the enormous blade with one while the other hand swipes along the edge, roaring flames left behind along every centimeter of iron. The water knight visibly stumbles back, their shock echoing that of the entire crowd, only from the more precarious position of directly in front of Ren’s ire.

“I can’t believe he used an accelerant,” Phasma says, her voice hardening until she sounds oddly angry. “He’ll be disqualified.”

“He will not,” Hux says, hearing the words resound far more defensive than intended. He doesn’t even know for certain, really, but he does know how Ren feels about accelerants.

_ Well, _how he did when twelve, deeming a performer who used them to be weak.

The match is interrupted by an officiate a few seconds later, to a mix of boos and jeers from the crowd. The reaction from Ren is equally explosive, sword flaring a bright blue-white in his hand, before he puts out the blade with a flick of his wrist and an aggressive gesture at the interrupter. It almost looks like he’s about to start a secondary fight, swinging the unlit sword in a wide arc to needlessly emphasize his frustration, before his shoulders drop with something the officiate says, then gives up the sword to with a shove.

“Where _is_ your prince, anyway?” Phasma asks, her voice barely heard through the frustrated grumbles of the crowd. She sounds far too knowing for comfort suddenly, using that awful flat voice.

Hux rolls his lips together, “At the castle.”

“The _castle_?” Phasma questions, her doubt exaggerated by the slightest change in her voice, higher only by the sparest measure. “During the biggest event hosted by the capitol?”

“He has to – to rest often,” Hux says, distracted when one of the watching knights seems to offer their own sword. He drags his teeth across his lips, watching Ren rip the new sword from the officiate’s hand. “Because he still feels poorly.”

The crowd roars when Ren promptly turns the second sword aflame, though he’s predictably sullen about it, making a play at swiping the questioning official’s back before he turns back to the center of the ring. He’s proven himself, at least, silencing the few boos that came from the onlookers of the water knight’s territory.

The borrowed blade is smaller and less impressive than the one pulled from Ren’s own side, but that doesn’t make it any less frightening for the other knight, who seems at a loss when the match starts again and the sword flares against their suddenly pitiful spouts of water. The confidence they had is gone, a more crushing blow than any sword could ever deliver, and soon they’re stumbling back onto their ass a second time, pleas inaudible from the distance but undeniable by the gestures.

“He doesn’t seem that poorly.”

Hux glances over sharply, catching Phasma’s eye, then narrowing his own.

Phasma doesn’t back down, staring steadily, only looking away once a horn sounds, marking the end of the bout. “And he’s won.”

* * *

Hux manages to break away from Phasma in the rush of the crowd from the stands, slipping between stumbling, noisy families and out toward the hunting grounds, though he knows well enough she’s let him do it. He’s not sure if he’ll even see her again before the visit is over; if she’ll make a point to request meeting Ren and Queen Organa now, or wait until it’s all done in a few months to present herself as a knight on her own merit

He wanders further, trying not to think about it, and finds himself under an old, familiar tree, just inside the bounds of the woods proper where it’s still mostly field. He feels oddly relieved that it’s still here, gnarled branches laden with bright green leaves, and a childish part of him is satisfies that he can now reach the first split in the trunk with very tips of his fingers. He trails his hand down around a marked scar in the bark just near his waist, a blackened mark from a fool trying to show off. He can’t remember if he did, or attempted, anything similarly offensive to the tree, though what he did likely fed into the roots as water before they even left, leaving little proof he was even present.

The thought shouldn’t distress him as much as it does, but he can only read it as an omen; another mark will be made soon, but similarly little evidence left of his own part, be it the expectations of the last seventeen years or the few seconds to ensure a death. He’ll simply be in the back, while Maratelle steps into her place and Phasma slips into the rank of knights, with only the satisfaction of having got rid of a single bastard in a world of them for his quittance.

He could still instead –

_No_. He can’t. He can feel a dreadful choking at his center at the mere thought, knowing what Brendol might force him to do once he took up as Prince Consort. The particulars that he’s overheard, and the smugness of that ghastly patron, with his thin hands and gnarled smirk, leaning in too close and offering promises.

…But he saw Ren fight today, hadn’t he? He’s far stronger than Hux could’ve known, not the sickly boy he imagined, so he could do something, couldn’t he? Hux might not have to do anything, not with Ren like that – He could tell him once the time came, and Ren would… could do something instead.

Only Arkanis would still be rotting in the meantime; Maratelle shouldering whatever tempers Brendol took with Hux gone.

It has to be done, and before any of it can get any worse.

The loss won’t be too significant, as all he really has of this betrothal is short visits and long letters, and some troublingly strong sentiments inspired by what he _thinks_ it might have been like and some assumptions already proven wrong. He only needs to realize that better, of how insignificant his fantasy is, rather than –

A shadow _looms_ at his side, getting closer in a loping step, and before he even truly knows what he’s doing he has turned around and seen a hand reaching out, stepping backward into the tree trunk at the same time he reaches out to freeze it before it can get any closer. He stares at black leather and woven robes, recognizing them too late, and looks up to find a now-familiar helmet staring at a quickly melting set of fingers.

“Armie,” Ren whines, shaking the ice from his hand with a hiss of steam and a trying spray of water droplets across Hux’s front. “I just got_ out _of the melee.”

“Don’t call me that,” Hux says, forcing an eye roll and leaning back into the tree with a somewhat mortified scoff. He can’t believe he’s gone and done that, now listening to Ren grumble, though he also seems… impressed, which Hux should be trying much harder not to care about.

“Took so long because – ” Ren gestures at his side, at the returned sword strapped again to his side. “They wouldn’t give it back.”

“Ah,” Hux says, glancing down, only to take a slightly longer look at the blade – it’s noticeably scorched, soot climbing up the polished double-edge.

“I should’ve had them in stocks,” Ren growls, pulling off his gloves and carelessly throwing them to the base of the tree, iron clinking together in a slump against roots. “It’s too precious for them to have their stupid hands all over it.”

“I’m sure they would’ve given it back had they known whose it was,” Hux says, trying to ignore the skip in his chest when Ren next reaches for his helmet, soon revealing familiar black hair and pale, beauty-marked skin underneath. He thinks he might be staring, which is far more embarrassing than icing Ren’s hand, but he hasn’t seen him in _years._ “How long have you been doing this?”

“A few months,” Ren says, running a hand a few times through his hair – it’s gotten so much longer, spreading down across his shoulders in waves now its freed from the helmet. His face is longer too, jaw narrow and sporting an unexpected goatee. “Mother said I could after I recovered from my illness.”

Hux forces himself to stop gawking, only to make the mistake of catching Ren’s eyes, still glittering warm gold from his recent display. “Did she expect you to actually take her up on it?”

“Who cares,” Ren says, dismissing it with an unsurprising scoff. “I did.”

“Yes,” Hux says, admittedly unable to contest the choice. He’s finding it difficult to dispute anything now seeing Ren’s face, how _tall_ he’s gotten, shoulders broad, not to mention the lingering flush in his cheeks from the tournament fight…

How terrible.

Ren clears his throat, suddenly ducking his head. “Arkanis still a swamp?”

“Only in the summer,” Hux says, hoping Ren won’t proceed to ask why he hadn’t visited in so long then, particularly when Ren was ill.

It’s not to say he didn’t want to, desperately even, when the letters started to arrive from Queen Organa, always too stiff and formal, and every one another worry that perhaps it might announce Ren’s passing, until once again, just as abruptly, they returned to Ren’s flowy script and oddly weighted stories. He is tempted now to ask what the illness had been, to nearly kill Ren, yet show no lingering effects only little over a year later, but it’s likely the response will be as vague in person as it’s been in writing.

“The letters,” Ren mutters, as if sensing Hux’s thoughts, “Weren’t enough. You’ve changed so much.”

“You, as well,” Hux agrees quietly, his eyes dropping to the ground at their feet.

He hates that he started to truly care for Ren somewhere between letters, as if the Divinity had wanted to make everything a little more painful. In the recent months, he has even found _relief_ between bouts of anxiety by fantasizing that Ren might still want him to be that partner he stands beside on that quickly approaching day, choosing him, rather than being bound by an obligation that will soon no longer hold. And, exacerbating it all now, is turns out Ren is no longer the impulsive, awkward boy Hux has been imagining – instead, he’s near a man, one who just handily won half a knights’ melee against competitors decades older than him. A tall man, with shiny hair and big hands, but still with Ren’s soft eyes and habit of staring hard while biting uncertain at the inside of his lip.

Hux swallows tightly, looking to their feet; he should say something, anything to make Ren stop looking at him like that, as if he’s going to care at all in a few months’ time.

“I would’ve visited _you_,” Ren announces, painfully earnest, one of his hands brushing against Hux’s before just as quickly retreating to a fist. “But Mother,” he pauses again, his voice getting high and tight, cadence more shifting and uneven the longer he speaks. “She’s worse than ever. Refusing to let me… out. Of her sight. I can’t even leave the castle without a soldier or Chewie trailing me, and. Though I… doubt we’re watched now. She watches me less as Kylo.”

“That’s alright,” Hux manages, feeling a telltale chill up the back of his neck, and swallows, trying not to think too much why being watched right now might matter at all. “My excuses are worse.”

“I know I’m…” Ren cuts off and rolls his lips together, then suddenly gives an explosive breath, shifting in closer with a skitter of mail. He’s ducked his head some, seemingly just to make it easier to peek with a begging look. “Could I visit for the solstice?”

“Yes,” Hux says, without a quite thinking, off-balance and feeling the chill spread up across his skin. He catches up with his thoughts an instant later, the reality of what will have happened by then crashing down like a wave across the momentary thrill to drown it. “If you can, I – I would like you to.”

He starts slightly when a warm hand closes around his, then inhales when Ren clumsily presses in close – he has a split second thought to push Ren away, only then quickly tilts his head inward, helping along to make sure their lips meet somewhat rather than only getting a glancing kiss at his cheek. He isn’t certain what _else_ to do, his momentary bravery evaporating the moment Ren’s lips touch, somewhat chapped, hot like firebrands, and giving only a sparest hint of pressure. He can hear an odd noise, as well, some muted manner of hissing, which he’s sure enough is only from inside his mind.

Ren’s nose is blunt when it bumps along Hux’s as he jerks sideways the next moment, ultimately pulling back in haste. He lifts his chin, only to immediately drop it, lips pressed tight together now, white with heat or pressure – or likely both.

Hux stares back for a few seconds, his own jaw icy and feeling hoarfrost across the backs of his ears. He manages to swallow; to force himself to speak. “What was that, princeling?”

Ren looks away with an eye roll, little embers springing up across his shoulders and up into flames that trace along his curls. “Thanks. For the tiger.”

Hux peeks downward, only to find there is… smoke? No, _steam_ rising from their joined hands. He watches it wisp and disappear, realizing the same must have happened with the kiss – the odd noise? What would it… No, no, he can’t think about it like that, not now with Ren still so close.

“Hux?” Ren asks, his hand flexing against Hux’s palm, loosening briefly before tightening almost painful. “What’s with that face?”

“Nothing,” Hux snaps, looking up sharp and easily forcing a glare, his embarrassment sinking heavily into his stomach. He’s thankful that his body is behaving, rather than further mortifying him into an early grave – he wouldn’t even know if Ren was similarly humiliated, since he’s in plate and _robes_. “It’s just my face – what’s with yours? I see you still haven’t grown into those ears.”

Ren looks offended for a beat, straightening against the tree, then slumping all over again. “Yeah, whatever, I don’t think I will – Alderaan will just have to deal with an ugly king.”

Hux scoffs weakly, feeling guilt sneak up on him; he’d fully expected Ren to snap back that he still looked like a weasel. “I didn’t say you were _ugly_.”

“Yeah well, my cousin says it all the time,” Ren grumbles, proceeding to get defensive about the most ludicrous thing he possible could, which probably should have been expected. He still doesn’t let go, though, grip almost getting tighter, his hand undeniably warmer. “And she’s not as good a liar as you.”

Hux blinks at the mention of unfamiliar family – he hadn’t known Ren _had_ any cousins. Are they from Han’s… no, unless they’re one of Calrissian’s children. “Who?”

“My _cousin_,” Ren says, gesturing vaguely toward the castle, then dropping the hand with an audible thunk of it into his thigh. He exhales slowly, looking away when Hux attempts to meet his eyes. “My Uncle Luke… he died while I was sick. So his daughter is here now.”

“I’m sorry, that is…” Hux had only met Ren’s uncle once, and he’d been an agreeable enough person, though rather opinionated about the proper uses of affinities. “Very unfortunate. Good of your family to take her in, even if she’s a boor.”

“I guess,” Ren says, abruptly dropping to sit against the tree with a clatter.

The move essentially drags Hux down along with, though he narrowly manages not to end up in Ren’s lap. He wonders about it, just after, if that had been some sort of goal, but a glance sideways confirms that Ren is just staring down at his feet.

It is… somewhat disappointing.

He leans into the tree, rough bark scratching at the back of his head, and looks out across the field to the castle. The sun is dropping noticeably into twilight, casting everything a dull yellow, even the pristine white rock of the spires and the snow-capped mountains just on the other side of it.

A love match, Phasma had said, but sitting next to Ren now, holding his hand, it rings as the emptiest of prospects. Hux is only seventeen, but he… He can feel the ache high in his chest; the urgency to grab and hold on; the uncontrolled domination of every other thought. Ren will be someone he wants for a lifetime, even if he loses him before he ever really has him.

…Though he could have him for a little time, couldn’t he? Ren kissed him, which…. It probably means he likes him enough to be interested in what their marriage might never bring, and probably a few of the things that Hux has been somewhat zealously thinking about in the dark for the past few years. He can’t quite see them getting to most of it here, out in the open on the bare ground, but another taste would be enough; he could keep that close, a memory tucked away for when he needed it.

It’s settled then, sensibly rationalized, now if he could just… bring himself to start. He takes a breath and turns, setting his hand flat against iron plating to push Ren against the tree. He’s shocked that it actually happens, since his limbs seem to be mostly trembling rather than moving, even more surprising is he manages to force himself to speak and his voice only pitches rather than cracks. “I’m going to… thank _you_ now. For… for the fox?”

“Oh,” Ren says, though his voice is little more than a rasp, eyes wide and dark. “Okay.”

Hux moves forward on one knee, ignoring jabs of metal against his thighs and sliding one hand into Ren’s hair. He stares down at Ren for a beat, then they both let go of each other’s hand at the same moment, and Hux leans down while curling his fingers under Ren’s jaw. His mouth is just as searing, but far more lax, giving under Hux’s lips and opening with a shaky gasp that encourages Hux to do the same with a chill across his cheeks. It’s so clumsy, noses bumping and teeth sometimes too sharp, the armor making it no better, but Ren seems at a similar loss by the way his hands keep distractingly shifting from Hux’s waist to his shoulders, clearly unsure where to hold on.

He can imagine like this that the next few years will unfold like he once imagined they would; he will still be wedded to this prince, become Consort and live in the castle, read in its libraries and govern its affairs…

He jerks backward at the feeling of a sharp pain at his shoulder, frowning downward, only to see Ren doesn’t look shamefaced, only surprised, and suddenly the pain recurs, this time at the middle of his back and accompanied by an audible smack. He turns around quickly, holding out his hand in defense, and barely manages to stop himself repeating the incident with Ren what he sees just behind them.

A little girl, brunette and well-dressed, is pointing aggressively with a carved walking stick.

Hux hastily shuffles off Ren’s lap and into the tree when she raises the stick again, at a mild loss and looking to Ren with some expectation. He has little experience with children, even less with the sort that go around assaulting couples.

“Rey!” Ren snarls, taking a hard left from Hux’s expectations as he stumbles up from the ground in a fury. He takes a step forward, fire lighting across his shoulders completely and down to his finger tips; it’s too difficult to tell if more is from anger or embarrassment. “What are you _doing_?”

“He was attacking you!” The girl, Rey, responds with little fear, lifting her chin and pointing her stick again between them. “I helped!”

Ren proceeds to actually sputter, hands raising and lowering without much action. He turns around to look at Hux, and his eyes are suddenly wincing, shoulders curling up around his head with a sentiment Hux is well familiar. He looks away again, raising his voice, “Threepio!”

“Here, sir.” The fire atronoch appears with a tetchy shift and a bloom of flame, hands crossing in front of it; the little girl must be the _cousin_, to earn being trailed by Ren’s old nanny elemental. “Apologies, Prince Ben, but Duchess Rey wanted to find you.”

“Did it occur to you I didn’t want to be found?” Ren snaps, trying to be harsh, though there’s a tremor in his voice that is so obvious that Hux manages to find space for more embarrassment. “It’s your job to _watch_ her, not indulge her.”

“Stop being mean!” Rey interrupts, her voice far less sure than before, adopting a whine that veers dangerously close to a point that Hux worries might lead to tears.

“You _hit_ my betrothed,” Ren says, his tone dropping and the flames finally starting to die down around his robes. “Apologize to him.”

Hux blinks, looking up to Ren in surprise. “That’s really not – ”

“Sorry,” Rey says wetly, quiet for a few more seconds, then tiny shoulders falling as childlike shame eclipses her expression. “I didn’t mean to – I thought you were _bad_.”

“No,” Ren says, “He’s – he’s not.”

Rey squeezes her hands together in her frock, then rocks forward on her toes. “What _were_ you doing?”

Threepio, to Hux’s mild horror, seems to take it as his duty to promptly respond. “They were playing, Duchess Rey.”

“Threepio!” Ren snarls, his hair reigniting in a flash. “Both of you get out of here – now!”

“Oh,” Rey says, her eyes going big, stepping forward and seeming to see some delight in this new information. She pulls back when Threepio starts nudging her bodily toward the castle, until eventually he has to pick her up among angry protesting, “Let me go! I want to play with Benny’s benthroned!”

“I see that atronoch still hates me,” Hux mutters, drawing his knees up into his chest and hoping it doesn’t look too much like he’s trying to blend into the bark.

“You did freeze him solid,” Ren reminds, pacing for a few seconds in front of the tree, doing the grass a disservice with a scorched mark to follow his path.

“Clearly not well enough,” Hux says, glancing to the side and taking a sharp breath, cringing at the clear blotch at the base of the tree, black and ashy. He covers his face for a brief second, then drops his hand with a slow breath – best not to bring attention to it, lest they risk the entire woods going up in flame. “Was that the cousin?”

“Yeah,” Ren says, slumping down next to Hux, then jerking slightly, pulling his gloves out from under him with a grimace.

“She’s a _child_?” Hux says, pressing exasperation into his tone. He tries not to think about what said little child is about to report to her Queen, if he was attacking Ren or _playing_ with him – he’s not sure which is worse. “I can’t believe I felt sorry for you.”

Ren scoffs, looking over with a scowl. “It’s still offensive.”

Hux shakes his head, glancing in the direction the girl just took and the castle beyond. “You were terrible at that age; I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t expect the same from her.”

“I was not,” Ren says, drawing himself up in defense.

“You burned up my new book, you awful creature,” Hux reminds, looking down at his hands and trying to be angry about it again, though for some reason he can now only find it a bit funny. He’d been so upset, icy tears down his face at the thought his betrothed hated both him and books. “And screamed at me as if the very act of ignoring you was bloody murder.”

“You shouldn’t have been reading!” Ren says, whining nearly the same as he had then, though his voice is a bit deeper. “It was the first time we could play on our own and – and don’t you talk like _I_ was just a kid, you’re only five months older than me!”

“I was six at the time, while you were five,” Hux says, though he’s not sure that’s actually true. “I remember Maratelle telling me you’d mature with time, yet that clearly hasn’t happened.”

Ren curls into his knees, smothering what is undeniably some kind of raspy huff. “I hate you.”

“That’s a very mixed message,” Hux says, somehow managing to joke, and he doesn’t even feel frost across his face.

“I just want to stay here,” Ren mutters, lifting his head a few seconds later, exhaling over his knees with a noticeable burst of heat. “Would that be okay? If the only kingdom I could give you was this tree.”

Hux takes a breath only to find his lungs have shrunk, and an ache setting in just under his ribs. He looks up, taking in the darkening shadows of the packed leaves, then peeks back to Ren. “Will you build a roof?”

Ren outright grins back, bright and wide, and Hux realizes with a melancholy start it’s the first one he’s seen so far. “Yeah. Maybe I’ll… I’ll put a whole cottage around the tree.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can also be found on the [twitters @ ezlebe](https://twitter.com/ezlebe?lang=en) ~
> 
> I got an idea for a fic while I played the Frozen world in KH3 back in like December? And this is not that fic, but it's a bit of a stand-alone prequel to it.


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